My Grandfather's Castle
by RoyalVicTorie
Summary: Acacia's curiosity about magic has always stood in the way of her being a proper lady, and so at 15, she is finally being sent to study at her Grandfather Godric's school. But Hogwarts is not quite what she imagined, and she will need all her wits to deal with the ramshackle ruffians that are her fellow students..and the professors! Founders-Era, Original and canon characters.
1. Chp1 My Mother's Trunk

Chapter One: My Mother's Trunk

My mother had a favorite saying for whenever she felt I was not behaving as a young lady of my station should. "Acacia, you were born to privilege," she would declare, clasping her hand with the other and bringing both to rest on her lap one slow and deliberate movement at a time. "And for that privilege, you must pay the price. Privilege comes at a price. Power comes at a price. And for you, my daughter, that price is your decorum." This lecture was always calm because ladies of my mother's station didn't scream. It was also always private, as the self-same ladies never aired their grievances with only daughters in a public way. My mother's lecture was always perfectly graceful and genteel...which made it the absolute worst part of my childhood.

In my defense, this favorite lecture did not come often as, while not the perfect daughter, I was, for the most part a well-behaved one. I combed my hair, was kind to the servants, and only made the occasional mess of Father's library. The worst that could be said of me was I was too smart for my own good, prone to insomnia, headstrong, and much too restless to be the proper little doll that my cousin, Catherine, was. I was also perhaps over-gifted in the magical arts.

Now, do not be mistaken, magic, like bloodline, was a valuable source of power and my mother did not hesitate to instruct me in all the basic conjuring, charms, and potions that a noblewoman may need. Indeed, she was much more open-minded than Catherine's own magicless mother, and I was beyond grateful that she had the patience and talent to teach me. ...But Mother saw no need for training beyond her own skill set. And learning magic was all that I spent my sleepless nights thinking of. When the yearning got too strong, and my restlessness too great, the devil's greatest tool snuck out to snare me: curiosity. It was always curiosity which landed me in my messes - usually amid a great, stinking puddle of melted calduron and burnt goosefeathers. Or, in one particular morning's case: feet stuck permanently to the ceiling with all my hair turned a bright fuscia.

"I swear, Mother, I wasn't trying to do this," I promised, from my uncomfortable perch. My ears and cheeks felt hot with blood from being upside down so long and my legs ached from having to hold the weight of the rest of me. I was stuck in a narrow space right next to the canopy of my poster bed, and my fickle cat, Diana, had lept atop the wardrobe to hiss and claw at me. I was only barely managing to escape her, while also holding up my night skirts so that I did not expose myself. I had been stuck so for over two hours now, and on the whole, felt very out of sorts. "Do you think I was trying to do this?" I said with utter exasperation.

Down on the floor, my mother heaved a tiny sigh and looked around at the mess of my spell-making. The conjuring circle I had made of chalk and herbs was about the only thing still in its place on my worktable. Everything else had been knocked aside - pillows and blankets torn from the bed and every item in my wardrobe spilled over the floor as if a cyclone had struck it..Or, perhaps, Catherine.

"I am not certain what to think of you anymore, Acacia," my mother admitted. Her ever-neat fingers prodded gently at spilled circle of sage and dried witchbane. The chalk gave a startling sputter of pink light and then fizzled into ashes. She withdrew her fingers to a safer distance and shook her head. "Certainly I can't deduce from this clutter what ever it was you were intending in the first place. I doubt Merlin himself could."

"It was a good plan," I insisted, grabbing the top of the poster to steady myself and give my legs a bit of help. "I was going to fix the curtains of my bed as you said we should. I did the Color Change Charm and tried to add to it a sticking spell to get the loosening weave to fix, but..well, I just underestimated the side effects of mixing the two charms."

"And now it is you that is stuck..and changed of color I see." Mother's green eyes swept thoughtfully over my surely-pinked features. My knees quivered as I tried, futilely, to once more pull the sole of my slipper off the ceiling - or my foot at least from the slipper. ..It was not successful except to let Diana take another chunk of flesh from my shoulder. Quite calmly she asked, "Why did you not do first one spell and then the next?" ...Anytime someone uses logic to point out the flaws overlooked in a moment of poor decision-making, well, it doesn't feel so kind to the one hearing it. Which probably explained why my face grew even redder at that point - smarting with embarrassment and indignation as well as three hours of blood rush. I was getting close to crying - the worst part of being frustrated, as I hated crying as much as I hated getting a lecture. "Or, perhaps," Mother continued, "Practice on a small item before using it to attack a set of bed curtains that is much bigger, and perhaps, even more stubborn than you?"

"I was trying to save time," I ground out, fighting to keep my voice steady and not shriek. "A good witch is always efficient in her magic use, isn't she?" Mother looked pointedly around the room at the very large mess. I coudln't bear to look, and I couldn't find any reasonable way to defend myself either. This certainly wasn't a more useful way to take care of anything. And..worst of all, there was nothing at this point I could do. I couldn't get my legs free. I had to do it.. My throat tightened up and I squeezed my eyes tight against those stupid, stupid tears. "...Can you - can you just.." a deep breath sustained me to choke out the words, "Can you get me down, please?"

Mother nodded slightly. "I'll go find your father's wand," she agreed.

Once she was out of the room my knees limp with complete relief. Call it pride or foolishness, but having to ask my mother's help put more strain on my nerves than doing risky magic or hanging from the ceiling did. Sniffing, I wiped my eyes free of frustration-tears. Very unladylike, I shoved my skirts around my legs. By clamping my legs together, I was able to wipe my nose on the sleeve of my bedraggled nightgown without the skirt falling back down over my head. "Oh, Diana, this morning has not gone well," I groaned. I got scratched again for my observation. "Imbecilic cat. I don't know why I even put up with you."

That evening, after the formal dinner my mother always hosted, I was summoned to appear before my father. By that point, my hair had nearly returned to it's typical auburn, but my cheeks were still a bright pink after all the teasing I had endured from my nanny and maid. My father was an older man, Mother being his second wife, but while his hair had turned gray, his mind was still as sharp and keen as his sword. He ruled very well our little holding and kept our small garrison in perfect condition - a fact that meant I had never experienced the cold reality of hunger or danger that most have. He was a good man, a strong man, but I never really knew him. With the nature of his summoning, I could presume that he had heard about my gaff of earlier, and in fact, the first thing he said upon my arrival was "I hear someone is restless enough to climb the walls, Acacia."

Heaven help me and my fair skin, but I blushed again. Truly, if born a boy, I never would have been able to become a play actor nor a spy, for my emotions were always being given away by my too-hot blood. "Forgive me, Father. I had not meant to cause an uproar in your household."

"An uproar?" Father repeated. His lips drew together into a thoughtful frown. "Was it so upsetting? Your mother, I know to have been inconvenienced, but -" I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he continued, "I had not know it so bad as all that, very well, my only daughter, I shall have to ponder upon a solution to this. Say your prayers and go to bed, I shall have you and your mother an answer by the morning."

I was stunned: summoned, chastised, and so dismissed in but two breath's time. If it weren't for my mother's firm arm coming beneath my own, and her hand at my back guiding me away, I might have stayed staring blankly at my Father's features for upwards of an hour. (Very much not an appropriate response..) When we began to climb the narrow spiral staircase to the tower of my mother's solar and my own room, I found the grace to speak again. "Is he - Is Father angry? He didn't seem angry? What is going to happen? Mother? What did Father mean? Did you say something to him? I didn't think I had done something so bad! The only thing spoiled besides my hair was the rushes. I didn't even melt anything this time, and all the dogs have fur yet - What did he mean 'a solution'? Mother?"

My words and I chased her up the stairs and all the way into her chambers where she only too calmly began to go through the large trunk that contained the most precious linens. Finally, my petite mother turned and quelled my questions with a single look. I mumbled an apology and sat myself down on her and Father's stiff bed. She nodded her approval and made me sit there in my agonized silence for a good three minutes before speaking. "Acacia, your father is no stranger to the difficulties you have had this past year." Her deliberate pause was to allow me to think back on all the various mayhem my spell-writing had gotten me into. It was a little too easy to remember some of them. The squashes as large as wagon wheels that tasted of fennel and baked apples stood out particularly. (In my defense, I had been trying to make harvesting easier, and instead had nearly had a revolt thanks to the revolting-tasting vegetables.) Or there was the time I had tried to freshen up the privy by magically convincing live roses to bloom in the wooden walls...I hadn't planned on the thorns. None of that, of course, could even start to stack up to how my father had laid an entire field fallow for the next ten years in order to be sure that no one would disturb the deeply buried bodies of some very unsettling five headed monster chickens. ...I hadn't been able to stomach white meat since.

"That said," Mother continued, "He and your uncle have been looking into solutions. They are going to make the final decision tonight."

My heart lept. My uncle? Mother's brother was none other than one of the most important contributors at Grandfather's school! "Uncle Wilhelm?" I gasped, nearly falling off the edge of her bed with the sheer magnitude of the implication. "Father and Uncle Wilhelm? Mother! Am...am I going to go to Hogwarts?"

 _Hogwarts!_

The very name sent my soul singing! Hogwarts! The school of witchcraft and wizardry that was as much legend as dream! I had longed to go since I very first heard of it spoken. To gather with others of talent and learn all they had to know! To meet the greatest witches and wizards and to study at their feet: Sorceress Rowena Ravenclaw. The world's post powerful Hedge-Witch Helga Hufflepuff. Oh, and no one could forget the foreign mysteriousness of Salazar Slytherin, a wizard so powerful he could charm even snakes to speak their secrets to him. I had grown up with mythical tales of such powerful women and men spoken at the dining table and when clustered around the hearth. My own grandfather, Godric Gryffindor was friends to these wondrous creatures and it was his idea to built the school - a school that my uncles and male cousins had all attended. Catherine and I used to whisper to each other wild tales of how a pair of matching hippogriffs might one day arrive at the gates of my Father's keep and whisk us away over the wild moors and craggy cliffs of Dover until at last we reached the Black Lake. We would be welcomed and go immediately, of course, to the top of the class, out-performing all the boys and making our dreadful cousins cry at their unexpected defeat. Nothing in the world could have brought me as much joy as the thought of smashing the bully Randulf's face with a good hex or two..once I learned how to actually cast a hex, of course.

All these wild, giddy thoughts could not keep contained in one, single girl and I eagerly joined my mother in removing every single linen from the trunk - flinging them as quickly onto the bed as I could. "It is! It is that, isn't it?" I swooned with the bellowing tail of a flung tablecloth. "And this - this is to be my trunk. My very own trunk where I shall keep my spellbooks! Oh, Mother, will I finally get my own wand? Oh, please, please say 'yes!' Say it is so!" I grabbed both her arms as though she were my Father's resolve and if I just held on long enough she would crumble and Father would say that I would, indeed go. "Is that what Father and Uncle Wilhelm will discuss? Please, oh just give me that hope, Mother, and I shall be as happy as a meadowlark for all the days that I live!"

After fifteen years of living with my Mother, I had the ability to read her expressions quite well..even the very small ones. The way she hid her eyes from mine and the faint easing of her lips - I squealed with joy and hugged her tightly. "Now, now, Acacia," she urged with her gentle way as I danced around, "They haven't decided certainly quite yet -"

"But we are packing my trunk?" Even I could tell that my eyes must be sparkling with eager joy.

And now my mother's lips curved into a wonderful, sweet smile as she affirmed, "We are packing your trunk. So long as your father agrees to all the arrangements, you will leave tomorrow with Uncle Wilhelm. And yes, Acacia, you will be going to Hogwarts."


	2. Chapter 2 - My Uncle's Coach

There are many pleasant and congenial ways for a person to travel halfway across their known world. There were horses, wagons, boats, and even the new and somewhat perilous broomsticks. But while all such ways were lovely and effective, they were not exactly...well, they didn't have enough drama and presence for Uncle Wilhelm. Oh, a sturdy ship could be quite striking, and a fine horse excellent for intimidating pedestrians. But when it came to making an impression...well, Gryffindors had a reputation to maintain. Catherine and my idea of riding astride hippogriffs was the right course, but such a temperamental beast would have never endured luggage to be strapped to its hindquarters. And so..we arrived in a golden coach pulled….by a dragon.

Do not misunderstand: even in those wild days, there were quicker ways for witches and wizards to travel than by dragon or broomstick. To have ridden from my home of Stoke-on-Trent to the Black Hills was a journey of nearly four hundred miles! That would have taken several weeks – time that an important wizard like my Uncle simply could not spare. The first leg of our journey, then, was achieved magically via the most complicated spell I had seen thus far in my young life. It took Father, Mother, and Uncle Wilhelm combined the better part of the morning to cast the spell circles. Mother insisted on checking every sigil and rune at least six times before she would agree to let me even step foot into the primary array. We sent my trunk through first. Uncle Wilhelm insisted that it was all perfectly safe – that Baron Picout's Transportation Ring was the safest and most secure in wizardom – but even he was willing to surrender the honor of first trip to the inanimate piece of luggage. Father and Uncle dragged the behemoth to the center of the hearth and lit the flames. Father's deep voice spoke clearly the words to ignite the runes. A silvery powder was carefully scattered on the flames and they leaped up a bright green. I couldn't help the little gasp I made as the green fire swallowed my mother's trunk, and then it was gone. "Zounds, that was amazing," I murmured.

"Acacia! Don't curse in front of gentlemen, young lady," my mother scolded. "Now go get your cat." I went to fetch Diana as they reset the runes in order to send Uncle Wilhelm through next. I managed to retrieve Diana out from under my bed with only three bleeding scratch marks as my reward. I took one last look around my room and then hurried downstairs before I could do something stupid like cry that I was leaving it.

But by the time I got downstairs again – past all the well-wishing servants and eager hugs of the peasant girls I attended Sunday School with – I was rather wishing I had gotten rid of the tears upstairs where no one else could see them. As it was, my last conversation with my dear mother was very salty and left us both with red faces that tilted at the same proud angle daring anyone to challenge our right to sniffle our goodbyes. I gave my austere father a quick hug and thanked him formally for the opportunity for my new education. He spoke kindly and praised my curiosity. Then he slipped a purse in my hand that felt delightfully heavy. Then, I stepped into a chalk circle, waved one last time at my mother, gripped my thrice-cursed cat tightly and let the green fire wash over me.

Baron Picout's household received us warmly. They outfitted us for the rest of our journey with a pair of sturdy piebalds and a most convenient cart. It trundled pleasantly enough along behind our horses, somehow keeping pace even over ground that should have broken even an iron-bound axel. It was a horse-less wagon, bespelled to endure any element, but it could not carry any live baggage. Diana had been coaxed, very unhappily, into a leather case with fetters that was usually used for transporting Father's hunting falcons. We traveled five days in this manner, staying the night in a pleasant variety of warm barns and peasant hovels. It was a marvelous adventure, such as Catherine and I had always dreamed of. Then, the morning when we were to have arrived at our destination, Uncle did not saddle the horses.

"Uncle Wilhelm? Shouldn't we get going?" I asked curiously, while shoving Diana down into her much-scratched leather prison. "We are reaching the castle today, aren't we?"

Uncle Wilhelm puffed pleasantly on his pipe. "Yes. But we are waiting."

"Waiting? For what?"

"Our ride." And then, pouring out over the cliffs, came a sight that would have sent our unwary peasant hosts running for the fields – if they hadn't already been there, of course. It was my uncle's flamboyant and golden coach pulled by a true-to-live dragon. It was just an adolescent dragon, of course, nothing that would send the half-built castle up in flames, but one strong enough to make the last three mile's journey. It was a grand idea, and really very exciting. Which is why a scant minute in, I vomited my breakfast into my uncle's hat. Flying is NOT my idea of a fun time. There is absolutely no way I would ever, ever make the mistake to fly again. The king's church was right: It was the devil's own work to leave the ground and travel upon the heavens.

Thanks to my undignified use of the hat, our landing down was made more dramatic by the nearly too-long pause before the doors grandly opened and Uncle Wilhelm descended with a freshly spelled-clean hat. Thankfully, our entrance had a very small audience of only two geese and one very lazy bloodhound. I was as weak and pale as an upturned mandrake as I came stumbling out of the coach. Three deep breaths of the sharp, piney air did a great deal to restore me - as did a firm hand on the wagon wheel. Uncle Wilhelm gave me enough time to get acclimated and for his servants to try to reign in the dragon before he impatiently took my arm and had us begin to stride up the hill - I guess the lack of audience had perturbed him. It was a sharp climb and the exercise helped shake the rest of the motion sickness from my limbs and replace it with the pleasant burn of activity. Finally, we crested the hill and I caught the first good view of my new home.

It was awful.

Oh, sure somewhere there was something that somehow resembled a castle….but it could hardly be seen for the arching skeleton of wooden framing. It was as though a giant spider had begun to spin a web of raw pine boards and within it stacked a crazy jumble of ugly mis-matched rock that only vaguely connected three spindly, uneven, ghastly towers. The famed beauty of the Black Lake was utterly obscured by a massive mountain of rough stone that looked as though it had quite literally been dropped by some very uncaring giants who then proceeded to kick the pile over on their way back to the hills. What wasn't an architectural and construction atrocity was a rollicking mayhem of people, magic, and livestock. Cows and sheep alike wandered freely amongst the half-built walls with nary a care for human comforts or sanitation.

I was appalled.

"Ahhh…isn't that a tremendous sight?" Uncle Wilhelm boasted. "True Wizardly industry at work. The whole of that tower was assembled in just three days using a brand new charm created by one of my prize pupils. Of course, I'm sure you'll set the whole lot of them to shame, won't you, Acacia? A true Gryffindor you are. You're destined to make a splash here. ..But hopefully not in my hat again." Uncle's heavy hand gave my shoulder a friendly whack that nearly sent me flying. "Well, come on then, girl. Let's go introduce you around then."

I spent the entire morning meeting literally every creature in that nasty ramshackle mess that they were daring to call a castle. And then I met them all again for a second time that afternoon (without getting luncheon or tea) when my self-assigned "guide" – some too pleasant blond girl named Bathilde – attempted to be well-meaning but just succeeded in annoying everyone in the vicinity. Or maybe it was just me that was becoming more and more irritable. I can be quite a dragon myself when I'm hungry. Uncle Wilhelm should have just had me pull the coach. Dear, dense Bathilde finally put it together when my stomach decided to very loudly announce its own feelings on the matter while we were slopping our way through the muck-pit that was going to one day be a "magnificent Great Hall with room enough to sit one thousand students and pillars that are tall enough they seem to hold up the sky itself."

"Uh-huh, that's nice," I mumbled for the sixteenth time. My boot made a most satisfyingly disgusting sound as I pulled it out of the mud – something in between a fart and the sound a sheep's stomach makes when its been stretched too tight over the beginnings of a haggis. My stomach answered in kind with a guttural thunder that no sane person should have to endure.

Bathilde's eyes grew huge like a startled owl's. "Oh my. Was that your stomach, milady? I am so sorry! You must need to rest and eat after your long journey here, and here I am being a silly ninny and making you meet everyone while you are just starving." She fluttered over and caught my elbow to steady me as we stepped up onto more solid ground. Bathilde's hair fluttered sweetly into her eyes and I felt bad for thinking poorly of her. It was like calling a rabbit rude names.

"Well…I am a little hungry," I said much more meekly than I normally would.

"Oh my! Well, come, come then!" the other girl insisted, eagerly fluttering about and encouraging me to lead the way down the packed dirt path to where a large canvas tent housed the dining hall. "We must get something in you right away!" I felt hope spring forth eternal the closer we got to that glorious canvas structure. Finally! The sweet taste of tea on my lips – the glorious crunch of bread on my teeth – the full, silky smoothness of cheese filling my mouth…I practically flew through the canvas flaps...and straight into a man's chest.

Stumbling backwards, I fell against Bathilde's thick figure. "Oh! Oh dear!" the blond fretted. "We did not know you were there. Forgive us, milord, Baron Picot. Oh! And our deepest apologies to you too, Lady Ravenclaw!"


End file.
